A flickering spark of sense held him in check. Even if she was willing, he'd be a damned fool to act. And, of course, he'd promised not to touch her, though it was hard to remember that when she had come weeping into his arms.
He held still a moment longer, feeling the siren call of her body. The prospect of burying himself in her, of mating with the woman who had imprinted his soul, was almost unbearable. Perhaps intimacy would bridge the chasm that had separated them for so long.
No. During their marriage, sex had been the icing on the cake and the Band-Aid that covered the cracks, but it had never solved an underlying problem. It wouldn't now. If they were to have a future, their minds must meet before their bodies did.
Besides, he didn't want to be the villain again, which he would be if he took advantage of her distraught state, and she regretted it later. Exhaling roughly, he disentangled himself and moved to the far end of the sofa. Trying to keep his voice even, as if they were involved in a continuing conversation, he said, "First love is easy, Kate. Mostly instinct. But you were badly burned, and need to learn how to love again. As your mother said, we both have to come to terms with the past, and move on."
She straightened up, her nose endearingly pink. "I'm open to suggestions on how to do that. Do you have any?"
"We started this spend-a-year together business locked in old boxes. You didn't want to be touched, bent, folded, spindled, or mutilated. And I..." He shook his head, unsure how to explain.
"And your box was...?"
"Hating myself, and tired of it."
"That doesn't sound very pleasant for either of us. What do you suggest as an alternative?"
"Demolish the boxes. Allow the future to be full of possibilities, not dead ends and emotional land mines."
"Possibilities," she repeated, her voice soft.
For a moment he considered telling her that he still loved her, but instinct warned him that it was too soon. Any fragile understanding they might achieve tonight would be crushed by the weight of a declaration.
Instead, he laid his left arm along the back of the sofa so that his hand rested on the middle cushion. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, jerkily, Kate reached out and placed her hand over his, her slim fingers cool.
He laced his fingers through hers undemandingly.
Possibilities.
Chapter 25
Being home in her own bed should have given Kate a good night's sleep, but it didn't. She awake lay in the dark, feeling like an onion whose outer layers were being peeled away one by one. Alec's whispered declaration of love had been deeply unsettling. Clearly he had hoped for a response, but she couldn't reciprocate.
She'd misjudged their relationship, and misjudged him. Just as Donovan had said later, she'd been locked in a box.
In the darkness, her face burned at the realization of how close she had come to hurling herself at her former husband. When he held her, she'd felt like she had come home. If she had signaled that she was willing, the odds were high that he would have taken her up on her offer.
They would have had a brief, passionate interlude that drowned her misery--and gone from the frying pan to the fire. While Alec could scramble her emotions, Donovan was capable of annihilating her. She had known that any degree of physical contact between them would be lethal, and she'd been right.
Those aching minutes of closeness had brought every sensual, intoxicating memory of their marriage to life. Now she must deal with a renewed physical attraction that could not be buried again while Donovan was so much a part of her life.
Her gaze moved over the shadowy shapes of her bedroom furniture, each with a story of discovery and rehabilitation. Her home had been her project and sanctuary. And as carefully as she had remodeled her home, she had constructed a calm, comfortable life in San Francisco that was pretty as a doll house, and about as real. For years she had been drifting, avoiding emotional risks, her deepest feelings reserved for her brother and the easy, nurturing bonds shared with her female friends. Safe.
Once she had been afraid of nothing. A sign of youth and inexperience. Then she had learned about fear, and retreated from life. Become a victim, God help her.
Even though Donovan had also avoided making a new commitment, at least he had faced hard truths about himself. He was behaving more like an adult than she.
It was another dismal thought. Behaving with calm maturity was a very important part of her self-image. She didn't like having to acknowledge that she had been more numb than mature. But at least she could acknowledge it.
Sighing, she felt for Ginger Bear's warm shape against her side. He made a small feline chirruping sound as she stroked his back. No wonder people had pets. All you had to do with a dog or cat was give it food and uncomplicated affection. So much simpler than maintaining relationships with people.
She'd unconsciously put Alec in the same category with Ginger Bear--a pleasant companion, good to sleep with as long as it was mutually convenient. But while Ginger, faithless feline, was perfectly content to bed down with the house's new tenant, humans did not recover so quickly.
She rolled onto her side, her body curving around the cat. Why the devil did growth have to be so blasted uncomfortable?
∗ ∗ ∗
After the temperate winter of Nevada and San Francisco, Maryland was cold enough to freeze vital body parts off a brass monkey. On the way back from the airport, Kate and Donovan stopped by her mother's house to say hello, and so that Kate could commandeer a winter coat.
Julia was glad for the visit, hugging them both warmly. Despite the shadows under her eyes, she invited them for dinner and produced a large container of coq au vin from her well-stocked freezer. Probably she'd been cooking up a storm as a hedge against grief. Kate had a second serving, along with the mental note that Julia's coq au vin was one heck of a good coping mechanism.
By the time they pulled into the garage on Brandy Lane, Kate was yawning. "All this traveling has kept me in a continuous state of jet lag for over a week."
"There aren't any trips scheduled for the next month. Today Luther started prepping Concord Place. You can work there under his supervision whenever you haven't got office work."
He pulled both suitcases from the back of the vehicle and carried them into the house. She didn't object. The previous night's discussion had brought them to a new level of ease. Besides, it was no longer possible for her to play Ms. Self-Sufficient when she'd broken down in front of him. The memory of that sent several kinds of heat beating through her.
She took off the hooded black wool coat she'd gotten from her mother and went to her room to unpack her suitcase. As she gathered her laundry, the phone rang. It was immediately picked up by Donovan.
Several minutes later, he appeared in the doorway of her room. "That was Chief Stanski, the investigator from the fire marshal's office. Still no conclusions about Sam's accident. Stanski wants to question me again tomorrow about some of the things that don't add up."
"I suppose they might never find a definitive answer." She picked up her laundry basket. "Do you have anything to be washed? I'm going to do a couple of loads now."
"That would be really nice. I'll get my stuff and bring it along in a minute."
She carried her clothes to the laundry room, which lay between the garage and the kitchen. The oak kitchen cabinets and state-of-the-art washer and dryer were a great improvement over the dismal basement area she'd used a dozen years earlier. It was hard to be enthusiastic about laundry when dodging spiders.
Balancing her dirty clothes with one arm, she opened the door and felt for the light switch. Before she could find it, a furry missile rocketed from the darkness, brushing by her arm. An instant later, howling creatures raced past her ankles. Caught by surprise, she yelped and jumped backwards, dropping her laundry.
Hearing her cry, Donovan came to the rescue in seconds. "Kate?"
Shaking from shock, she hid her face against his shoulder. Warm. Solid. Alarmingly desirable.
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"Was there someone out there?" He glanced through the darkened laundry room at the window, which faced into the woods.
Telling herself to get a grip, she stepped away from him. "No. I...I just opened the door and some creatures roared out. At least two clipped me. No damage, but I was so startled I almost jumped out of my skin."
"What kind of animals? Bats?"
"It happened so fast I didn't see. Squirrels, maybe, or large rats."
"I came from the bedrooms and didn't see anything, so they must have gone into the kitchen."
They checked out the kitchen and dining room. Nothing was amiss. Donovan flipped on the living room lights, revealing three feral cats. A tabby cowered in the corner while a calico and a skinny black and white cat darted away from the intruders.
Donovan closed the kitchen door behind them. "These guys just want to get out. You stay here while I open the sliders."
Opening the door admitted a blast of bone-chilling air, but the cats figured out the strategy as soon as Donovan moved away. One by one they tore outside, across the deck, and down the steps into the night.
He asked, "Is that the lot?"
"I think so. I feel silly for panicking over three cats, but at the time I felt like I was being assaulted by rabid weasels, or worse."
"Who would expect raiders in the laundry room?" He closed and locked the door.
"It gives me a lot of sympathy for our hunter ancestors. What if those cats had been saber tooths? I'd have been dinner. Speaking of which, those poor kitties are skinny as rails. It's been so cold. Do you have any cat food?"
"My supply of canned tuna should take them through the night. Tomorrow I'll pick up a couple of bags of dry cat food."
Kate had always fed hungry strays. Ginger Bear had been a scrawny street cat when she adopted him. While Donovan set off to find how the cats had broken in, she opened two cans of tuna and set the fish outside in shallow bowls, hoping the cats found the meal before it froze.
Then she returned to the laundry room, on the way collecting the basket Donovan had dropped when she screamed. She was just setting it down when he emerged through the basement door, opposite the laundry.
"They're ingenious beasts," he reported. "They managed to get into the furnace room by taking out an outside vent. Then they ripped up some insulation and got into a nice warm duct." He gestured across the laundry room. "This vent was a little loose, so they knocked it out and moved into the laundry room. They've probably been coming and going for days."
"Cozy." She glanced around. A set of folded towels on top of the washing machine showed a basketball-sized dent. Obviously someone had been sleeping there. That must have been the cat who'd brushed her arm as it leaped for safety.
She was about to start sorting laundry when she heard a tiny, high-pitched cry reminiscent of a bat squeak. It seemed to be coming from the narrow gap between the washer and dryer. She knelt to investigate, and saw two bright green eyes and a tiny triangular face. "Someone got left behind."
She laid her hand palm upward on the floor between the appliances. The kitten hissed and skittered backwards. Kate made a quick grab and scooped it up with both hands. After a moment of wild thrashing, it settled down to watch her warily.
Making soothing sounds, Kate got to her feet. The kitten was gray with tan patches and a couple of spots of white, and weighed almost nothing. She felt her heart melt as it gazed up at her. "Oh, Patrick, she has such pretty green eyes."
He regarded the creature dubiously. "I know that voice, but how can we keep a kitten when we're going to be traveling regularly?"
"We could leave her with my mother when we're out of town. Julia likes cats." Kate began to pet the kitten. "I can't just put her out. She's probably only a couple of months old. It's amazing that she's survived such a cold winter."
"She? Are you sure?"
"She's a blue cream, one of the variations of tri-colored cats, all of which are female." The kitten suddenly scrabbled up Kate's arm and clung to her shoulder, the tiny claws like needles. "There's the calico, the tortoiseshell, and the blue cream, which is sort of a faded tortoiseshell, only gray and tan instead of black and orange, and a little bit of white."
"To think that I reached my present advanced years without knowing that," he said, amused.
Kate unhooked the kitten from her sweater, then handed the small creature to Donovan. "You take her, tough guy."
He raised the kitten to eye level. They stared at each other. "You're right. She has pretty eyes."
His tone struck Kate with a force that tumbled her back a dozen years. On the night they met, he'd had the same expression with his little cousin Lissie. She'd known then he'd make a wonderful father. Later she sometimes daydreamed about the children they'd have after they became established in their careers. Strong, mischievous children with their father's warmth and laughter, and she'd love them so much that they'd never know the pain she sometimes saw in his eyes. The dreams had ended when she left her husband, but now she ached with regret for their lost children. "That kitten has your number."
"Don't look so smug. Have you picked a name yet?"
"She's got plenty of energy. How about Dynamite? Dinah for short."
"Let me guess. The next step is a dog named Detonator."
Trying to match his light tone, she replied, "If we find a homeless puppy in the heating ducts, definitely."
He scratched Dinah's minuscule chin with one fingertip. "Did you save any tuna?"
"There's one more can, plus the milk we picked up on the way home." As she went to the kitchen, she thought of how a house was more a home if there was a baby. Even if it was a cat baby.
Chapter 26
For the rest of the evening, Dinah explored her new home with high energy and no fear. She cottoned instantly to the concept of a litter box, which Kate improvised from an old microwave brownie pan.
When bedtime came, Kate left her door open a few inches. Sure enough, soon after the lights went out, she felt a faint jar in the bed as the kitten launched herself at the hanging quilt, dug in her claws, then swarmed onto the bed like a rock climber.
With an audible thump, Dinah threw her small body down onto the mattress and curled into a furry ball a few inches from Kate's shoulder. Kate woke the next morning to find Dinah still sleeping soundly rather than doing aerobics on Kate's face. This was definitely one special cat. Kate prepared for her first day at the office with a smile.
Phoenix Demolition was housed in an eighteenth century mill on a country road that twined through the rolling Maryland hills about twenty minutes north of Ruxton. Kate followed Donovan to work in Sam's car, parking next to him in the lot behind the office. It was early, and only one other vehicle was in the lot.
Kate had always loved the weathered stone mill. At the age of thirteen, she'd researched colonial architecture when her father decided to do some remodeling, so the job would be done right. She'd had a great time inflicting her design ideas on her father and the contractor.
Janie Marino, the office manager, was sitting at the receptionist's desk in the front hall, under a long bulletin board detailing the status of all PDI projects. A comfortable-looking woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, she'd been the second employee hired after Luther Hairston. "Hi, Kate, good to see you," she said. "Nice shot in Vegas, Donovan. Yesterday we looked at the videos Luther brought back." She kissed her fingertips with a flourish. "Magnifico."
"It went well. Has Ted checked in from Brazil yet? He left a message yesterday that he wants to talk to me about that hotel job he's prepping."
"Hasn't called yet. There should be time for coffee and a quick tour, if Kate needs one."
"I'd like that," she said. "There must have been some changes."
"Not many," Donovan said. "Everyone here is always too busy to change things without a good reason."
Kate poured herself a mug of coffee, then wandered down the hall to her father's office. She was unprepared for the upwelling of grief at
the sight of the familiar, sunny room, with the clock made of dummy dynamite sticks and a lingering scent of her father's cigars. Papa. Oh, Papa.
Behind her Janie said, "I can't get used to the fact that Sam isn't coming back. I see him in every corner of this place."
"If he's hanging around, he's a friendly ghost," Kate said.
"Friendly, hell. He'd be roaring at me to do three things at once, and in half the time." Janie pivoted and headed for her office.
Donovan leaned against the door frame. "I haven't figured out what to do with this room. No one wants to move in. God knows I couldn't."
The spacious room had a working fireplace and a view of the woods and stream. In the summer, ducks would be paddling around in the old millpond. "The building isn't crowded, is it?"
"No, we've only got fifteen employees, so we still have room to spare. Why? It would be kind of sick to keep Sam's office as a shrine."
"Turn it into an employee lounge and lunch room. With the sunshine and the view, it's one of the nicest rooms in the building," she said. "A counter and sink would have to be installed, but otherwise, it would just be a little redecorating. Fresh paint, a couple of sofas and chairs and dinette tables. Easy. Once people start microwaving their burritos in here, they'll get over their discomfort."
"Great idea! You have your first independent project. Draw up a plan and a budget for me. If you can keep the cost down, it can be done right away."
"OK. But I still get to do field work, right?"
"Right. Come on up to my office. I like the second floor because it's quieter. Sam preferred being in the middle of things."
Upstairs, engineering and accounting had expanded, but as Donovan had said, it wasn't too different from how she remembered. They ended in his office, which was directly above Sam's. One wall was all oak shelves, books intermixed with souvenirs of different projects. At the opposite end was a drafting board. Next to his magna cum laude engineering degree hung a Loyola MBA diploma. Useful for running a business, but earning it must have kept his evenings and weekends busy for a few years.